


Mensonge

by TheSacredStoners



Category: One Piece
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Nakamaship, Post-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 02:45:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12878508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSacredStoners/pseuds/TheSacredStoners
Summary: Sanji's world is turned upside-down when an attempt to protect a loved-one causes more pain than intended.Alternatively: A little tale about all the lies that Sanji tells, and the one person to whom he cannot lie.





	Mensonge

**Author's Note:**

> Yo. First upload. Review and stuff. If I made any dumb typos, please try to ignore them. 
> 
> This story takes place in the canon timeline (some time after WCI), and contains vague descriptions of a scene from chapter 856. 
> 
> Also, you should probably read this thing while listening to sad or nostalgic MUSIC; it'll make my writing seem way more awesome than it actually is. Have tried it, can confirm. 
> 
> \------
> 
> This work was written with the intent of preserving the canonically established relationships between characters. Therefore, the relationships presented here are strictly platonic. If you want to interpret them as romantic, however, feel free to do as you please. Just know that such was not my intention.

_I_

Sanji was sometimes utterly bewildered by the intensity of his emotions. Growing up as a child surrounded by the cold insouciance of the Germa regime, the distinction between him and his unfeeling brothers had made itself apparent. Ichiji had deliberately ingrained the stark contrast in Sanji’s mind, each ruptured vessel and shattered bone a reminder of why, unlike the others, he had been a failure. Even as an adult, Sanji was aware of the weaknesses that accompanied his capacity to _feel_. But as visceral as he was, he found immense difficulty in understanding the sheer _ferocity_ of his emotions. Often, they would rush by like a torrent, and Sanji, never able to look into the river and observe the fish, could only mask his face as the raging waters overwhelmed him.

That day, the river came by once more, a tumultuous mess of fear and a few other emotions he couldn’t discern. He didn’t particularly know what he was doing as he leapt forward instinctively, the water sweeping him off his feet. He couldn’t even hear the words tumble out from his lips when he forced himself to speak. He was deaf and numb, and even his sight was waning as he struggled to maintain consciousness. However, a sliver of feeling returned to him as he gazed at a pair of horrified eyes, but he couldn’t quite identify the emotion as he collapsed into someone’s trembling arms and his vision faded. All he knew was that it was a shitty feeling. 

...

Sanji awoke in the infirmary bed, comfortable and warm beneath the blankets. When he opened his eyes, he was almost blinded by the brilliant glare of yellow light. Squinting through the yellow murk, he could make-out two hazy figures leaning over the mattress. One, characterized by lovely, fiery orange hair; undoubtedly Nami. The other, he concluded as his vision cleared, was Usopp. 

Nami, having noticed his awakening, was adorned with glistening tears in the corners of her brown eyes as a smile blossomed upon her lips. “Sanji-kun!” she exclaimed. 

Usopp turned around and called, “He’s awake, Chopper!” 

While Sanji re-positioned himself to gain a better view of his surroundings, he was greeted by high-pitched sobs as Chopper rushed forward and threw himself on top of his legs in an embrace of sorts.

It was impossible to determine the exact time of day, as there were no windows through which the outdoors were visible, or through which sunlight could enter. The room was brightly lit, however, by the lambent glow of two lamps. Chopper’s desk was littered with rolls of medical tape, open books laid haphazardly, and an arrangement of glinting scalpels. 

Sanji’s gaze wandered to Luffy, who sat in the corner of the sick bay, legs crossed and arms folded. He appeared tired and worn, and dark circles had settled below his eyes, which stared vacantly at the infirmary wall. What concerned Sanji the most, however, was his thin appearance; it seemed as if Luffy, as voracious as he was, had not been eating properly. “What the hell have I been doing?” Sanji muttered. 

Chopper lifted his head and wiped his streaming eyes with his hooves. “You’ve been unconscious for a few days,” he answered shakily. 

“ _Days?_ ” Sanji gritted his teeth and ran a hand through his blonde hair. “Who’s been doing the—how’ve you guys been eating?” His heart throbbed and pulsated as he glanced inadvertently at Luffy.

“That’s the first thing on your mind?” Usopp sighed exasperatedly. “Well, what else was I expecting? Anyway, everyone’s fine. Nami’s been doing the cooking.”

Sanji exhaled with relief, his heart-beat relaxing. “I can’t thank you enough, Nami-san.” 

“Actually, that just might be possible,” said Nami coyly, twirling a flaming curl around her finger. “You see, I’m thinking of charging you for each meal I’ve made. I just haven’t decided on the numbers yet—”

“Oi, Nami!” scolded Usopp. “Now’s not the time for that! Can’t you see that he’s in critical condition?” 

_Critical condition?_ thought Sanji. What the hell had happened? He searched his mind for answers, but he returned fruitless; his memories were clouded and limited. It dawned on him that he had no clear recollection of the past few days. Finally, he asked, “What happened to me?”

Chopper sat-up in Sanji’s lap. “Well… Five days ago, you were shot in multiple vital areas.”

“What the hell?” Sanji was incredulous. “I got myself shot? _More than once?_ I’ve always been able to dodge gunshots easily.”

Nobody responded immediately, and an uneasy silence settled itself within the infirmary. Usopp simply fidgeted, his dark eyes purposefully avoiding Sanji. Nami bit her lip nervously.

It was only until Chopper cleared his throat that the uncomfortable stillness was broken. “It wasn’t an accident, Sanji,” he began reluctantly, to which Sanji raised a curled eyebrow. “I don’t know if you recall, but we ran into some trouble with Marines. They… They warned us that they were armed with pointed Kairōseki bullets.

“We took down most of the enemy, and we thought we were safe. But we let our guards down, so we weren’t expecting it when four of the fallen Marines picked rifles up, and…” Chopper trailed-off, unable to continue. Even Nami had begun to shed tears once more, and it upset Sanji to know that he was the cause of a woman’s sadness. Still, it was necessary that they relay what took place. 

Sanji pressed on. “Let me guess: here’s where I get shot, right?”

Usopp inhaled heavily. “No. They weren’t aiming for you. We all saw it coming, but any of us could do anything, you interfered, and—” His voice was tremulous. 

“Yeah?”

“... And you jumped in front of Luffy, taking five lethal hits that were meant for _him._ ”

The silence that followed the revelation was suffocating; no one spoke, and Sanji could not fathom the dolorous atmosphere that had suddenly encompassed the room. When turned to face Luffy, he found that his captain was watching him as well. The two locked gazes, and Sanji was unnerved by the anguish within Luffy’s dark eyes, normally so guileless and radiant. Sanji longed to reach out to him, but it seemed then as if a distance spanning several oceans were standing between them. So he turned away.

There was also something else—an inkling of doubt that told Sanji that he had no right to comfort Luffy. He chose to ignore this.

“ _Why_ did you do it? _Why_ were you so reckless? Zoro could easily have protected Luffy with his swords, Usopp could have shot down the bullets, and... And you could have _died_ , Sanji-kun.” Nami’s cheeks were flushed, and her lovely eyes shone with wetness. Sanji recognized immediately the feeling of horrendous guilt welling-up within him. 

“I’m sorry, Nami-san, but I don’t remember anything from back then.” He closed his eyes, raking a hand through his hair subconsciously. “And it really doesn’t matter, because I didn’t die.”

“Sanji-kun, you can’t—”

“Sanji.”

His voice was weak and hoarse, hardly audible, but he managed to seize the attention of the entire room. Almost instinctively, Sanji responded, “What is it, Luffy?”

“You’re forbidden from doing something like that ever again.” His voice grew stronger, emanating intense anger. Sanji found this unsettling.

“Luffy, there’s no need to get so worked-up. Like I said, I’m okay, so it’s not important—”

“I order you to swear you’ll never do it again!”

“Oi, what the hell’s it to you, anyway?” Sanji was growing more aggravated by the second, and he could feel the torrent approaching, fierce and uncontrollable, though he didn’t know why—

“That’s an order!” 

The storm had arrived, its destructive waves sweeping Sanji off his feet once more and carrying him away. Clenching his fists until his knuckles were snow-white, he shouted, “It’s none of your fucking business!”

Nami covered her mouth with both hands in shock. Usopp stared with his mouth agape. Chopper gasped.

Luffy only blinked noncommittally. Then, he stood up, his expression unreadable.

“You really don’t get it? You, of all people, Sanji?”

And he walked out the door. 

_II_

It was a difficult task, allocating time to the navigational duties and the cooking. Still, Nami was an intelligent woman and (in her opinion) more reliable than most of her idiotic crewmates; it was only natural that the task fell to her, and she was more-than-willing to oblige while Sanji recuperated.

A day following Sanji’s outburst, Chopper had gathered the crew in the infirmary to explain the circumstances regarding his recovery. Luffy had not been there.

Extreme amounts of blood loss had induced anemia in Sanji’s body, so he would be spending an indefinite amount of time in bed, where restrictions on his diet and tobacco-intake (much to Sanji’s dismay) would be imposed. Chopper had also mentioned that the Kairōseki bullets, having deeply penetrated Sanji’s body, posed a serious threat and needed to be removed immediately with anesthetics. Brook had wondered how they had been so effective from the great distance from which they were fired. 

“Don’t you remember?” Chopper had said. “They were pointed. Whoever designed them clearly knew about Luffy’s immunity to normal bullets.”

Nami had shuddered at the thought of the bullets striking their intended target, feeling slightly relieved before recalling that Luffy had been saved at Sanji’s expense. 

Naturally, Sanji had opposed the notion of remaining in bed, unable to do the cooking until he had recovered completely. However, his opinion had changed after Nami had offered so sweetly to cook in his stead, batting her eyelashes seductively. His weak-mindedness in the face of attractive women never ceased to amaze her. 

Of course, with so much responsibility, Nami did not have much time for the usual leisurely activities. Her novel-reading sessions with Robin had become more and more infrequent, and she could no longer drink alcohol with Zoro in the aquarium-bar. 

Today, she did have free-time on her hands, so she visited Sanji in the infirmary. He was asleep when she entered the room, his complexion defined by a conspicuous pallor (a symptom of anemia, Chopper had said). She knelt next to him on the bedside and placed the back of her hand onto his forehead; as expected, his flesh was as cold as it was pale. His blonde hair, normally waves of soft, spun gold, was sandy. In a gesture of affection that would not have occurred had Sanji been awake, she smoothed his hair and brushed his fringe to one side. 

She stayed a while before he finally began to stir. When he opened his eyes, the bright brown of his irises shone in the light. His pupils were slightly dilated. Upon noticing her, he smiled. “Was there something you needed, Nami-san?” 

She grinned in return. “Nope. I’m here on a whim.”

“You’re so lovely when you worry about me.” 

Nami rolled her eyes. “Don’t push your luck, Sanji-kun.” She reached into the pocket of her denim skirt, retrieving a box of cigarettes and a lighter. Brandishing the items at Sanji, she said, “I’ll trade you these for an honest conversation.”

Sanji reached out for a moment, but he hesitated, and his arm fell back to his side. “Chopper would flip if he found out.”

“Then you’ll just have to do it secretly, right?” she said with a sly wink. “I know how difficult it can be for you to go by without these things.” 

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Nami-san, but I can’t take you up on that offer.” But upon seeing her disappointed expression, he added, “I’m still up for honest conversation, though.”

Nami sighed, slipping the cigarettes and lighter back into her pocket. “Alright, Sanji-kun. I have a question for you.” When he did not respond, she continued: “The other day, you never answered me when I asked you why you… you...” She could not bring herself to elaborate further, but the vagueness of her words did not appear to obstruct Sanji’s understanding. 

“Like I said, Nami-san, I don’t know. And I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember _anything_? Not a _single_ thing?” 

“No.”

Nami bit her lip in frustration. “Do you have any ideas, then? You _must_ know what you might’ve been thinking at the time.”

“I… No, I don’t have a clue.” 

An odd tone had suddenly seeped into his words, and Nami was confident that it was a lie. Of course, she knew better than to pry, so she simply said, “You’re hopeless.” Sanji’s lips twisted into a frown, and his gaze skirted around Nami. But he didn’t speak, so Nami added, “If you don’t remember, I’ll just have to tell you.

“Maybe you don’t _care_ because you don’t remember, so you don’t know how awful it was, watching you push Luffy out of the way, watching you cough-up blood as bullets rained-down on your chest, your stomach… 

“You don’t know how much it hurt, watching Luffy have a mental-breakdown as he held your body in his arms. He was shaking all-over, Sanji-kun. We all tried to calm him down, and it was only until Chopper promised to save you that he could even _breathe_ , and—”

“Please stop, Nami-san,” said Sanji wearily, a hand buried in his hair, fingers digging painfully into his skin. Sanji was pitiable in this moment of weakness, so Nami remained quiet and closed her eyes. 

She couldn’t bring herself to inform him that Luffy had remained by Sanji’s side in the infirmary, refusing to leave the room. That Luffy, sick from worry, had refused to eat unless it was Zoro who had forced him to do so. Nami also recalled that she had often come by at night and found him unable to sleep until she had sat beside him and laid his head on her lap, brushing her fingers absent-mindedly through his hair.

She could never relay any of this to Sanji; the knowledge would destroy him, and he was already so tattered on the inside.

Nami stood-up and walked toward the door. Before leaving, she retrieved the pocket-lighter and box of cigarettes and waved them in the air. “Are you sure you don’t want these, Sanji-kun?”

“Yeah,” replied Sanji. “I don’t want to upset Chopper with my selfishness.”

 _Selfishness?_ repeated Nami. She laughed bitterly. “You know, Sanji-kun, there are times when I wish you were at least a _little_ selfish.” 

She didn’t wait for Sanji’s response as she wrenched the door open and stepped out. 

_III_

Just as Nami had claimed responsibility for the cooking, Usopp had offered to deliver meals to the infirmary. It wasn’t nearly as arduous as feeding nine people thrice daily, and thus not an impressive task, but Usopp appreciated the opportunity to visit Sanji without appearing too concerned for his well-being.

Today, Nami had baked a delectable cake for tea, and Usopp was to take a slice to Sanji. Of course, Chopper had placed hefty restrictions on Sanji’s diet and insisted on performing inspections to guarantee the safety of all food, so Usopp had to endure five long minutes of the doctor’s scrutiny before he was able to haul the tray over.

The cake was lemon-flavoured, with thick icing cutting through the center like a yellow ribbon, and delightful citrus syrup glazing its surface. A candied tangerine peel dusted with icing sugar had been twisted into an ornate rose and settled on top. Usopp was tempted to stuff the sugary topping into his mouth; Sanji wouldn’t miss what was never his, he told himself. Fortunately, he managed to muster some restraint. 

Sanji, despite the obsequious adulation he showered upon Nami and Robin (and every other pretty woman, the lecher), was naturally unpleasant toward men; Usopp tried not to be too annoyed when, upon entering the infirmary, he was greeted by Sanji with an ungracious, “Oi, Usopp, the hell are you doing here again?”

“Geez, you’re a real jerk, you know? I’m just bringing you food.” Usopp walked over to Sanji’s bed and placed the tray onto his lap. “Between you and me, this stuff would’ve turned-out much better if you were the one in the kitchen.” 

Sanji grinned. “No, shit. I _am_ a first-rate chef, after all.”

Usopp laughed. “Yeah, well, tell that to Zoro.”

“That algae shit-head said something about my cooking?” Sanji asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “What, exactly?”

“Oh, just some stupid complaints and stuff.” Usopp said dismissively. However, Sanji glared pointedly, so he continued with haste. “You know, like, ‘It’s a good thing he busted himself up, because I’m not in the mood to stomach his crap.’” 

When Sanji merely gritted his teeth, Usopp scratched his head nervously. It was beyond him why the man was so sensitive to anything that concerned his ability to cook. “Come on, Sanji, don’t let it get to you. Deep-down, Zoro knows your food’s incredible. Everyone does.” He paused, then added, “Especially Luffy.” 

To Usopp’s dismay, the encouragement had an undesirable effect on the chef, whose brown eyes softened in what seemed to be sadness as he murmured, “Luffy…” Usopp was tempted to strike himself as he recalled that Sanji had been missing their captain for over a week. “Where’s Luffy right now?”

Usopp had encountered Luffy earlier that morning. He had been sitting atop the ship’s fence outside, his body threatening to fall into the ocean as his legs dangled dejectedly over the edge. He had not spoken when Usopp approached him. In fact, he had not spoken much _at all_ since the argument.

Of course, Usopp would never willingly relay any of this, so he simply replied, “He’s outside. You know, I can call Luffy in here if you want to see him.” 

“When the hell did I say that I wanted to see him? Don’t pull shit out of your ass.”

“I thought—”

“You thought wrong. Luffy ain’t comin' in here, and that’s fine by me. He can do whatever he wants.”

Despite the claim, his features were twisted painfully as he spoke, his tone unnatural and the words spat forcibly. Usopp was renowned for his own falsehood, so he noticed immediately the contrived nature of Sanji’s speech. Boy, was he a terrible liar. 

But Usopp thought it a bit hypocritical to acknowledge the lie, so he instead said, “You weren’t paying attention to Luffy’s feelings when you got yourself shot.”

Sanji’s irises grew black with vexation. “That’s not the same thing.”

“Aren’t you looking at this backwards?” said Usopp, despite fearing Sanji’s temper. “You’re not the only one who would risk your life for Luffy. _Everyone_ on this ship would do that! But _you’re_ the only one who jumped recklessly in front of him without thinking of a better way! There’s a fine line between protecting Luffy and being an idiot, Sanji!”

Usopp closed his eyes, bracing himself for the typical eruption of hot anger. He was taken aback, however, when Sanji merely sighed in response, burying a hand in his hair to mask his expression. In that fleeting instant, he appeared fragile and brittle. It was almost comforting, knowing that there hid weakness within a man whose unwavering strength brought foes to their knees, a man in whom Luffy’s faith was limitless. It was almost _odd_ ; for so long, Usopp could watch Sanji only with admiration and envy. Now, he watched him with understanding and sympathy. Not that Sanji could ever _accept_ any sympathy, of course. 

Finally, Sanji said, “Maybe I was born an idiot, then.” He chuckled bitterly.

“Isn’t that why Luffy chose us? Because we’re all born idiots?”

“... Yeah,” muttered Sanji with a wistful smile. Sinking into his pillow, he closed his eyes and remained silent.

 _Maybe it doesn’t matter_ , Usopp told himself desperately. _Maybe strength is overrated._

_Luffy didn’t choose any of us because of our strength, and the proof’s right here._

_IV_

Though the sun continued to rise at dawn and set at dusk, and the moon continued to draw circular orbits around the earth, within the windowless confines of the infirmary, Sanji’s world had grown stagnant.

He knew rationally that time was still flowing, that another morning had arrived when Usopp had walked in once again with the breakfast-tray. Nevertheless, the world was two weeks ahead, and Sanji thought he would continue to fall behind.

Atop a small table by Sanji’s bedside rested a glass vase that was partially-filled with soil; a gift from Robin, no doubt. Within it grew a small plant that sported lovely flowers, each with rich azure petals and a pale yellow center. Sanji was filled with pleasant warmth as he recalled the day he and Luffy had watched Robin plant the blue flowers in the garden; “Morning glory,” she had called them.

_(“These flowers remind me of you, Sanji!”_

__

__

_“You dumb-ass, humans and flowers can't look alike.”)_

The flowers were slightly wilted along the edges, the petals curling slightly inward. A dying plant. It was understandable. Robin had explained that the flower required constant exposure to sunlight, which the infirmary could not provide. She must have understood this, thought Sanji. It bothered him to know that the crowning-jewel of her precious garden had been wasted on him. 

Sanji listened in vain for the sounds of rambunctious laughter that would normally echo throughout the Sunny at any given time of the day; the past two weeks had offered nothing but cold, unfamiliar silence in the wake of his argument with Luffy. Perhaps the others felt that they could hardly laugh while their captain frowned. 

Though he would never— _could_ never —admit it, Sanji did wish to see Luffy. Each day that had gone by without a glimpse of his captain had felt unnatural to him. He had always taken Luffy’s presence for granted, had sometimes found it an _annoyance_ , even. It was said that one could not understand the value of a thing until it was lost to him. Perhaps he was feeling now as he had done for two years in that Hell, when he was alone.

 _You fucking idiot_ , Sanji told himself. _Why the hell are you feeling that way? Luffy’s the one who’s overreacting, Luffy’s the one who’s turned that incident into a much bigger deal than it actually is, you’ve done nothing wrong, it isn’t worth it, and Luffy’s the one who doesn’t get it…_

He believed himself less with every word.

...

When Zoro strode into the room later that day, his green hair unkempt and his three swords tied carelessly around his waist, Sanji was fit to burst with irritation. That’s not to say he was not surprised; unlike the others, Zoro had not come to visit Sanji in the infirmary since the argument with Luffy. Normally, the swordsman’s presence would have been a pleasant surprise, but Sanji thought only of the moss-ball’s insult to his cooking as he glared heatedly at his unwanted guest. “Get out,” he spat. 

Unfazed, Zoro snorted. “Hard to feel intimidated when you’re lying in bed, ero-cook. Not to mention that your eyes don’t have half the fire they usually do.” 

“Fuck off.”

Zoro sank onto the floor, leaning against the wall as he folded his arms behind his head and closed his eye. His apparent nonchalance further vexed Sanji, who gritted his teeth and said, “Why the hell are you even here?”

Zoro’s eye remained closed as he said, “’Cause you’re an idiot who can’t solve his own problems.”

“Problems?” Sanji repeated incredulously. “The day I come to an idiot like you for problem-solving-help is the day I kick a woman. And that’s assuming I’ve even got damn problems.”

“You know, you’re an even worse liar than Usopp,” Zoro retorted. “In case you’re too thick to have noticed, Luffy hasn’t spoken to you for a week. If you ask me, that’s a problem. Unless, of course, you don’t care.”

Sanji flinched; Zoro’s accusation was as lethal and jarring as a sword, piercing through his chest with a painful jab. Before his expression could betray him, he turned his head away sharply. _Why does it feel like this?_ he asked himself. _I shouldn’t be caring, not when I’m not to blame, not when I told Usopp that I was fine with all this…_

“I have no idea why I’m spelling this out for you.” drawled Zoro, interrupting Sanji’s thoughts. “As stupid as you are, you probably know, don’t you?”

“Know what, exactly?”

Zoro sighed, closing his eye once more as he shook his head exasperatedly. “That Luffy won’t show up because he’s waiting for you.”

The revelation wasn’t shocking, and didn’t evoke the surprise that Sanji was expecting. Instead, it reinforced a truth that he had buried within him, a truth he had wanted to keep hidden. So Sanji only looked at his hands, furling and unfurling callused fingers as he said quietly, “I _did_ know that. I knew that all along.”

“You know what to do, then,” Zoro said. It was not a question. 

Sanji didn’t respond. Instead, he gazed at the radiant morning glory and its azure petals, already beginning to wilt amidst the darkness of the infirmary. Perhaps Sanji would also begin to wilt if he lingered in this room, where the sunlight’s warmth could not reach him. 

Zoro stood up, brushing-off his pants. “I guess I’m done here.” But as he reached for the doorknob, Sanji finally spoke.

“Why the hell are you doing this?”

Zoro paused, a single brown eye ablaze as he turned to face Sanji. “Get off your high-horse,” he scoffed. “I didn’t do it for you.” 

And he left, leaving a smiling chef in his wake. 

_V_

Sanji set foot onto the lawn deck, taking in his surroundings like a drowning man gasping desperately for air. Dawn had only just arrived; the sun crept steadily from behind the distant horizon, and the picture of a magnificent sky was painted with gentle strokes of orange and blue. The Sunny was encapsulated by the vast, crystalline waters of the Grand Line that spanned the across the entirety of his view. As the waves crashed against the ship, their roars resonated across the ocean. Sanji didn’t quite realize how much he had yearned for the sight of the sea until now. 

Luffy lay in the middle of the deck, body spread-eagled and hair disheveled. His straw hat, pressed onto his chest, was wrapped firmly within his arms. His features glowed beneath the lambent rays of sunlight as he stared blankly at the sunrise firmament, his face devoid of expression. If Luffy had noticed Sanji’s arrival, he did not react discernibly.

Sanji approached Luffy quietly, his bare feet tickled by wet blades of grass. As he laid himself down beside his captain, he said, “If you’ve got a problem with me being here, I’ll leave.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Luffy replied without looking at Sanji. “And I don't want you to leave.” His tone was flat.

At that moment, Sanji could not muster a response; all words had failed him. Perhaps words could hardly hope to convey the river of emotion that flooded within him. It was a mixture of immense relief, guilt, and myriad other feelings that he could not identify.

A long silence ensued before Luffy finally asked, “Does Chopper know you’re here?”

Sanji shook his head. “Nobody does. I made sure to leave the bed when everyone was asleep. Chopper would have my hide if he knew I was here.”

“So why did you come?”

“I…” began Sanji hesitantly, but he simply did not know how to continue. Over the course of his life, he had grown accustomed to hiding his intense feelings beneath a facade of nonchalance. It was a survival mechanism—an instinct he had developed in response to his miserable childhood. Circumstance had molded him into a hopeless liar.

However, Sanji knew that any dishonesty would be futile here. He may have lied to Nami, to Usopp, to Zoro, to _himself_ , but Luffy was the one person before whom he would always be transparent. So he finally said, “... I came because I couldn’t stand it anymore. You and me, being on the same ship and not even talking to one another… I know I’m being selfish, because I should be in the infirmary, but—”

“Sanji.” interrupted Luffy. “You’re always like this.” He lifted his arms into the sky, hands furled into tight fists, and began to count on his fingers. “Back at the Baratie, when you thought you could repay your debt to that old gramps by dying.”

Sanji clenched his teeth. He was not fain to remember.

“Or,” his captain continued, “back when we got separated, and you let yourself get attacked by that bear-guy, even though I told you to run. Or in Whole Cake Island, where you went to deal with your problems all alone, even though you knew you were gonna be killed. Or a few days ago—”

“Luffy, just shut up,” murmured Sanji weakly. “I already know.”

“But,” Luffy added, finally turning to face the chef with a smile etched upon his face, “that’s just how you are, right?”

“... Yeah,” said Sanji softly, recalling the day in the cold rain, when despair had almost consumed him. It had been those very words that had rescued him from his pain, and it had been that very smile whose warmth had dried his tears. Even now, the tension that had been crawling within him was dissipating beneath the radiance of Luffy's grin.

“And I know you’re never gonna stop,” continued his captain, “so I’ll make you promise never to do that kinda thing ever again.”

Sanji shook his head gravely. “I can’t do that.”

“You have to.”

“I can’t,” repeated the chef wearily. “I spent two years training in that shitty Hell so that I’d be strong enough to defend this ship… Even if it costs me my life.”

_After all, I sure don’t have much to lose._

Luffy paused for a brief moment before he frowned and said, “That’s stupid.”

The remark was unexpected, and Sanji was taken aback. “What?”

“That's stupid,” insisted Luffy. “You want to protect us by dying?” He lifted his gaze to the skies. “Ya know, Sanji, Robin once told me about this thing called ‘The Green String of Fate’—”

Sanji rolled his eyes. “Actually, it’s ‘red,’ not 'green.’ Don’t you ever get names right?”

“Yeah, that!” his captain exclaimed. “Anyway, it’s sorta like us, isn’t it? I’m connected to you—to _all_ you guys. I mean, we’re both tied together.” Lacing nimble fingers through Sanji's, he raised their intertwined hands above their heads. Sanji could feel the multitudinous creases that decorated his small palms, all remnants of the countless battle scars that Luffy had acquired for the sake of others. 

“So I can’t let anything happen to you,” said Luffy, with a rare display of solemnity. “’Cause without you all by my side, I can’t do anything.”

 _No…_ Sanji wanted to speak aloud. _That's not true. It’s just like that time before the wedding, when I brought you that failure of a meal… Why are you always such a liar, Luffy?_

Sanji turned his head toward his captain, and whispered hoarsely, “You always say this sort of thing. You always go so far.” He inhaled sharply, his breathing tremulous. The river of emotion that surged within him threatened to spill from his eyes. “Even though it’s not worth it.”

Luffy blinked slowly before sitting-up on the grass and peering at the chef, his head tilted to one side. Then, without warning, he took his straw hat into his hands and placed it upon Sanji’s head.

To an outsider, such an act would have been ostensibly meaningless. To Sanji, however, the simple gesture carried an ocean of meaning. Saying nothing, he clasped the rim of the hat and pulled it further over his eyes, as if it were an extension of his captain’s embrace.

“There are lots of things that aren’t worth anything,” Luffy said. “Like a Pirate King without his crew.” Suddenly, he smiled widely, and Sanji felt his own lips tilting upward in response. “You’re not allowed to get hurt while you’re wearing my hat, so you can hold onto it for me. Deal?”

“... Deal.” murmured Sanji.

It was a lie, of course. He could never be in earnest when promising such a thing. It was a notion that he could affirm with absolute certainty; as long as the sun continued to rise in the east and set in the west, and the earth continued in its orbit, and the moon continued to manipulate the tidal waves, Sanji would always choose Luffy over himself. Though he truly did not remember the events of that day, three weeks ago, he knew that it was a reflex, an instinct, a _compulsion_ that had driven him to throw himself into harm's clutches for Luffy’s sake.

Surprisingly, Sanji did not feel a _shred_ of remorse for his dishonesty. He told himself that he was only returning Luffy’s favour, that it was a fair price to pay.

Because, when it came to Sanji, Luffy, too, would always be 

a liar.

_La Fin_

**Author's Note:**

> That's all, folks! I'm surprised you made it to the end. If I were you, I would have stopped reading after the first sentence.


End file.
